


Homecoming

by orphan_account



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Family Dynamics, Family Feels, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:14:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23718811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Zoe Baker wasn’t going to live in a trailer in her parents’s property all her life, you know.
Kudos: 8
Collections: Gen Freeform Exchange2020





	Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Coffin Liqueur (HP_Lovecats)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HP_Lovecats/gifts).



Zoe Baker wasn’t going to live in a trailer in her parents’s property all her life, you know. She was going to save a bit of money while she looked up job opportunities on the internet, and when she managed to snap one up, she’d be out of Dulvey. But it wasn’t going to stop at that. She’d move across the country; not just somewhere free from the whole _it’s them, nice enough and everything, their son’s like that though, you know what I mean_ thing, but somewhere completely different from small-town Louisiana—New York, or Alaska, or for a less drastic take, LA. Places like London or Sydney felt impossible, but still nice to think about. And it’s not that she’d never return, but she wouldn’t be stuck there. She’d have a way out.

This is what happened yesterday:

Of course it was late; late when Zoe finally got in her car that day, after a whole morning of heavy rain that turned into a drizzling afternoon, and late when she arrived at the Baker house. Even later because the roads were a muddy mess—one thing she hadn’t missed were the dirt roads. She’d tried to call her parents and let them know she wouldn’t be arriving until it was dark, but the reception was absolute shit. (Don’t mention that she shouldn’t be using her cellphone and driving. The roads were clear by dozens of miles on every direction. What a surprise that nobody wanted to spend time in the middle of nowhere.) And oh, yeah: her dinky little car wasn’t well-equipped to plow through the churning mud. She started out sort of joking to herself about being stuck in the middle of the road at night with no reception and no way to push her car without sinking into the mud herself (not particularly funny) and at some point realized it was an actual possibility. She stepped on the gas in a panicked reflex, and didn’t relax until she could see the lights of the Baker house. Her car got stuck at that point, but by then, Zoe considered herself lucky.

 _At least I’m home_ , she thought, slumping behind the wheel. What a strange thought. Her legal home was at the apartment in the city. She lived there and had a job there—but somehow, it wasn’t more home than the house she’d lived in for twenty years. Maybe at some point it would be. Or maybe she’d be living elsewhere before that happened. But the Baker house would still loom over her, it seemed.

She’d barely gotten out when Jack came down the path, as if summoned by her presence. Realistically, he’d been waiting at the window, but it reminded her of how as a child, she could never shake off the feeling that her parents could be summoned by her going somewhere she shouldn’t be. It’d been irritating then, but you never know how much you’ll miss knowing for sure that someone’s looking after you until you’re living on your own in a city where almost nobody knows your name, much less care if you live or die. Her apartment had more people living in it than ten square miles of ground around the Baker house, but she felt far more lonely over there.

“I did try to call, you know,” Zoe said. “Like five times. But the reception—”

“Don’t worry, honey. Just let your mother know everything’s fine, will you? I’ll take care of the car.”

Zoe almost started arguing that he shouldn’t bother doing that, but that wouldn’t go anywhere. She just hoped her father wouldn’t get the idea of checking the oil or anything. They were going to make her feel like a guest, like that. She picked up her suitcase and held it high above the muddy path, walking slowly so she wouldn’t slip up.

The thing with being away from home for a long while is that you remember it with less mosquitos and other such things. Zoe was reminded of this when she crossed the front door and nearly ran into Lucas. He was looking at his phone and didn’t bother dodging her, so that Zoe almost dropped her suitcase when swerving off course.

“Back already?” Lucas didn’t look up. What was the big deal? He couldn’t have friends to message him, could he? Zoe almost felt the morbid pull of finding out if he still used the same password for everything and going over his apps. But that was something a Zoe who hadn’t broadened her horizons yet would do.

“Nice to meet you too.” What Zoe thought was _So you haven’t been jailed yet_ , but on second thought, she didn’t want to know. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t help her locate their mother. The problem with this house was that people tended to get lost on you real quick. Luckily, Marguerite walked in right away.

“Oh, honey, you’ve made it! Lucas, why don’t you take her suitcase to the trailer?”

Lucas started to grumble that Zoe can find the way on her own, thank you, but soon changed his tune to tugging the suitcase away from her, probably figuring out it was the easiest way to get this over with.

“I hope you didn’t worry about me,” Zoe said.

Marguerite pulled Zoe into a hug and kiss. “Only a bit. It’s such a long trip to make all on your own. How about you bring a friend or two next time? We’d love to meet them.”

Lucas scoffed over his shoulder. “She doesn’t have any friends.”

Zoe pulled away from her mother. “It’s that I don’t want you meeting them.”

That was true, but she really didn’t have any friends either, did she? Or even things like coworkers. Thinking of them only drew a blank. Well, they couldn’t be very important anyway.

“Don’t worry,” Marguerite said, as if she read Zoe’s mind. “This is still your home. Now, why don’t you come to the kitchen and grab a bite to eat?”

“It’s been a long day on the road. I should really shower first.” And also, Zoe couldn’t eat anything her mother cooked ever again. That was Bad Stuff.

No.

Nononono.

Marguerite frowned. “Oh, so you think there’s something wrong about the meals in this house, don’t you?”

“No! I didn’t say that.”

Lucas stopped at a safe distance across the hallway and stood to watch the argument. He always loved it when Zoe was the one attracting the disapproval of their parents.

Zoe started backing down toward the right, but suddenly, Jack was simply standing there. She jumped and stepped backwards until she hit the front door; she couldn’t let him touch her. She couldn’t let any of them touch her.

“Ashamed of us, are you?” Jack asked. “Waiting for the moment to leave your family behind and never look back, are you?”

“Of course not! Not before the thing happened and you know it!”

Jack looked genuinely hurt at that. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—have an expression like that anymore, that was the worst part.

“Why don’t you at least try to act grateful?” Marguerite lifted up a hand. A centipede thicker than her thumb curled up around it several times, twitching its antennae.

“Stay away from me!” Knife knife where was a knife? Zoe had put them somewhere in here for a reason!

“Is that any way to talk to your mother?” Jack asked. But Zoe had had enough. She knew what was going to happen, and she wasn’t going to stand around and watch. The door handle dug into her back. She grabbed it, jerked the door open, and left the house, slamming the door behind her.

They were still talking to her from inside the house, but she covered her ears and refused to listen. Blaming her for not staying around, to be sure. For not wanting to be one of them in the end. And she couldn’t really blame them for thinking that.

Meanwhile, she was outside the house now. It was too cloudy for moonlight, so anything beyond the few electric lights was nothing but shadow. There were things in there, though; creeping, stumbling around. Drawing closer.

Zoe wakes up, covered in cold sweat. It _is_ late at night, so that she can barely see enough to realize she’s in her trailer. For some reason, she was sitting on the floor when she fell asleep, because she’s stretched out on the bare planks now. It takes a moment for her to convince her limbs to start working again and let her sit up. For all she remembers, she might’ve slept half a day or a couple hours.

Her mouth tastes awful in that “falling asleep without brushing her teeth” way. What a pointless dream that was—and still, it brings out all of her pent-up bitterness. For a moment, she had a life somewhere else. It doesn’t even matter where—Not Here is what counts. She rubs her eyes with the back of his hand until she sees stars. What if she had tried harder to leave? What if she’d just grabbed all of her savings and boarded the first bus out, no matter where it took her? Sure, there was a very good chance she would’ve ended up in the streets, but doesn’t that sound _good_ at this point? Imagine finding out about this huge rolled-up ball of shit from the news. Maybe from a coworker. _Did you hear about the killer cannibal hicks? I thought of you because of the name Baker—it’s really common so I guess it’s just a coincidence. Where did you say your family lived again?_ If that didn’t make her popular, nothing would. Actually, that might’ve happened. She’d have a personal connection with a pretty crazy story. She would’ve gotten interviews. Fifteen minutes of fame for doing nothing isn’t such a bad deal.

Yeah, except there’s nothing to it other than fooling herself. Never mind all the rest; even if Zoe would’ve managed to leave, this is what she knows would’ve happened anyway:

She’d be minding her own business when she’d get a call from one of her parents—or rather, from the one now controlling them. Something about an emergency at home. Zoe wouldn’t have any reasons to doubt it, so it wouldn’t take a lot to make her buy it. Along the way, she might’ve gotten word of people going missing and other weird shit happening around the Baker house; say, while she stopped for lunch somewhere, but she’d probably just assume Lucas had gone off the rails or something. Any signs of decay around the house would only make her more frantic to get in and get some answers. And when she finally saw—smelled—what had happened to the house from the inside, as if her parents would ever _think_ of living in such a dumpster, much less allow their home to fall into such disrepair... well, Zoe wishes she could say she’d be the smart person they rarely let into a horror movie and get as far as possible before calling the authorities, but the truth is she’d still stick around, searching for answers. So those things living in the Baker house would have the advantage of surprise on her. There’s a small chance she’d manage to get away, and then end up in her current situation—at best.

This situation she founds herself in is the best of all possible outcomes so far. How come that doesn’t feel comforting in the slightest?

Her long-neglected bladder tells her to pick herself up and drag herself to the toilet already, so that’s what she does. If we’re still trying to be positive, it’s a good thing that she has a toilet at all, and doesn’t have to pee in the midst of leeches or, like, risk having her head bitten off in the process. Also the kind of thing you have to psyche yourself up to be thankful about, but what are you gonna do.

 _What I can_ , Zoe tells herself as a reflex. That pretty much just amounts to trying to reach out to any survivors of her family, which is honestly more depressing than useful. She had to put down the last couple ones in self-defense; dangerous and dirty work. Washing what used to be people from the few clothes she has left will never get any easier.

(But at least it’s not her family. That’s a step she’s happy not to think about.)

Actually, there’s one wildcard still left. There’s Uncle Joe. Where’s Uncle Joe? Even in a good day, it was all but impossible to find him in the swamp, and there haven’t been good days for a long while. But he must be still out there. He’s tough—one has to be, living deep into the swamp with no company other than the alligators. You could step on one, have your leg bitten off, and bleed to death long before any help can reach you. The chances of her reaching him before any of the others—before _she_ does—are so slight she doesn’t know how that would happen.

She’s on her own now. They’re all on their own.


End file.
